


Extravaganza

by surena_13



Category: Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy attends a rather strange, exclusive party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extravaganza

**EXTRAVAGANZA** ****

The strong odour of cigarettes and alcohol mixed with expensive perfumes and colognes, combined with the smell of the most beautiful fabrics of unaffordable couture and even a hint of arousal entered Andy’s nose when she pushed the door open that gave entrance to a voluptuous scene, a masquerade. She inhaled deeply causing her to almost taste the strange but delicious air that filled the blue room. All the ornaments and tapestries in the room were blue as was its narrow, tall, gothic window with blue glass through which the only light in the room entered that emanated from a heavy tripod with a brazier of fire on the other side of the glass which illuminated the room in a fantastical and nearly delirious way.

 

Andy’s gaze moved through the room taking in all the masked people who didn’t seem to notice her. Hesitantly she adjusted her own deep brown mask with gold embroidery. She had absolutely no idea why she was here at this party, if such a simple word could describe this event. This wasn’t just any exclusive gathering for the rich and famous. This was _the_ elite. Not New York’s elite, not America’s, no, this was the world’s elite. These were people of royal blood, politicians at top functions, Nobel Prize winners, the world’s most celebrated performers, actors, actresses, singers and musicians, writers, fashion designers, editors, anyone who mattered to the world, was well respected and of course owned a fortune.

 

And that was why Andy was wondering what the hell she was doing there as a normal reporter. The mysterious invitation had arrived a month ago in a black envelope. The invitation itself was a blood red parchment with a black, handwritten in calligraphy text. Apart from the intricate seal the invitation was fairly simple, just the place, time, dress-code and the rules. If the bizarre seriousness of the invitation had not been enough, the rules and the seal would have convinced her that this was frighteningly real and not some poorly succeeded attempt at humour.

 

The rules were written in old-fashioned English, like ‘Thou shall’ and ‘Thou shall not’. Basically they said that one was not to speak with anyone about this at all and one could never expose any of the attendants’ identities. Other than that everything was allowed except for taking one’s mask off.

 

The seal was beautiful but incredibly blood chilling at the same time. It pictured a female devil sitting nude on top of a world made out of human beings, the devil’s tail curling around them as if to hold them in place. Underneath the drawing were the words ‘Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur’. With the help of a dictionary and a friend who actually understood the passive and the irregular verbs in Latin, she learned that it said ‘The world wants to be deceived, so let her be deceived’.

 

If Andy wasn’t so certain she was absolutely sober, she would have thought her eyes were deceiving her. For despite the masks she could recognize some of the room’s occupants and it frightened her who they were and how they behaved. Enemies were talking, laughing, dancing, people who always appeared to hate each other were flirting and exchanging kisses that promised more.

 

A soft touch on her arm nearly made her jump. A beautiful woman, end fifties or perhaps early sixties, held out a glass for her which Andy gratifyingly accepted. The woman smiled seductively and looked familiar to Andy, despite her blue mask.

 

‘You’re new,’ the woman said, allowing Andy to hear her French accent. It wasn’t a question. The woman must have been at this sort of masquerade more than once. But still Andy nodded as a reply to the statement.

 

‘Don’t be afraid to let go and enjoy,’ the française whispered in her ear and walked away, her hips swaying underneath the navy fabric of her gown. Andy knew she had seen her somewhere, probably in a film, which reminded her again of the uniqueness of this event.

 

She sipped her drink. It was some sort of cocktail she had never tasted before, but she could almost feel the alcohol making its way into her veins. As she made her way across the room she heard a lot of different accents around her. French, British, Russian, Spanish, Italian, Chinese, almost everything she could think of. When she exited the blue room, a narrow hall with a sharp turn led her to a purple room. It was very similar to the previous room, including its tall window, but every ornament was purple as was the glass from the window.

 

Though this room was just as large as the blue room, there seemed to be less people in it. The seemingly innocent kisses and touches from the blue room were a lot less innocent here. They were still just kisses, but Andy recognized a couple of film stars and secretaries of state, despite their disguises, of whom she knew they were married, locking lips with people who definitely not their spouses. With a faint blush on her cheeks she hurried out of the room, again through a narrow hall into another room, this time green.

 

On the floor were large pillows on which some guests had lied down smoking something that weren’t cigarettes. The air in the room was thick and Andy thought she might get stoned just from being in this room. She rushed out of the room, pausing in yet another dark hall. This was the world’s elite?

 

The world wants to be deceived, so let her be deceived.

 

The words went around in her head as she entered an orange room, the same design as the previous three. This one was even worse than the green room. Its occupants weren’t even smoking pot. They had there lips fastened to what Andy identified as opium pipes. Those who weren’t positioned on one of the low beds to get lost, sat in large chairs with glasses in their hands. The contents of the glasses, even in the orange light, had a hellish green colour. The lumps of sugar, teaspoons and cigarette lighters told Andy enough. Absinthe.

 

Suddenly a deep sound went through all of the rooms. The talking, muttering, fooling around, music and dancing ceased. All seemed to wait until it came another time and another time. Andy understood it was a clock telling the guests it was eleven o’clock, but she had never heard such a horrifying clock before. For all of the eleven times it rang, her heart stopped and her blood chilled. An uncontrollable shiver went through her body. She was so relieved when it stopped.

 

Why would any sane person want something that produced such a sound in their house? It was then that she realized she hadn’t actually seen a host or even heard of one yet. Someone had to be hosting this thing where celebrities from around the globe went wild and let go and for once not be the person they deceived the world into believing they were, Andy now finally understood the meaning of the creed, but somehow there just didn’t appear to be a host.

 

After the terrifying moment Andy walked further away form the opium and absinthe room through the hallway and entered a white room. This house, mansion, was making her dizzy and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol, drugs and sex, though that was major part of it. This place was so bizarre. The different colours in each room, the way each space was lit by the flames on a tripod through a coloured glass that corresponded with the décor of the room, the narrow, dark hallways in between with turns that made Andy confused as to where she was in the house.

 

And then there was the fact that this event was having a strange, changing effect on Andy herself. The most influential people were as human, as needy, as addicted to whatever as any ‘normal’ human being. Only they let it out just once a year at this masquerade and then they let loose to the extremes. This eye-opening discovery made Andy want to join them, to be stoned with a Nobel Prize winner or to feel the lips of a prince against her own.

 

She took in the people around her. There weren’t that many, but their actions were enough for Andy to continue into the next hall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe she’d just have a few drinks with them. The image of a woman’s naked upper body with another woman between her legs or that of a man with his hand in the underwear of a young woman would be stuck in her mind for along time. She’d never have guessed that that woman would have a tattoo there.

 

The next room was violet, but nobody appeared to be in it. In fact with every next room the number of occupants had gone down until finally this violet room was empty. She was just about to turn and attempt to make her way back through the white room with her eyes closed, when she noticed a closed door on the other end of the room, the only closed door in this house she had seen so far. The sane Andy inside of her said to get out of there, perhaps have another glass of that stuff the French actress had given her and then leave, but the other person inside of her, the one that saw some form of logic in this event, made her want to open that door, just to see what was on the other side.

 

With one large gulp she swallowed the last of her drink and felt the bittersweet liquid burn down her throat. She made her way across the silent room, the sound of her heels muffled by the violet carpet, her wide skirt swishing and rustling which each step she took. Her hand came to rest upon the cold handle. She sighed and pushed the heavy door open in one movement.

 

Nothing. That was the first thing she saw. Everything in this room was black, the hard wooden floor, the velvet draperies, the enormous sofa, the terrifying grandfather clock, everything except for the window. The glass was scarlet, tainting everything in its vicinity blood red. But Andy wasn’t drawn to the room that could have come straight out of a horror film, or the glass, or the heavy ticking of the clock, but to the person who stood, her back straight, full martini glass in hand, looking out the window at the fire.

 

She should have known _she_ would be here. The world’s most influential people, yes, she was one of them. Miranda Priestly, fashion goddess, ice queen, boss from hell, ex-employer and absolutely fucking gorgeous. Last time Andy saw her there had been a busy street and a silver Mercedes between them, but now there was nothing but the thick tension.

 

At the first glance Miranda appeared to be dressed in red, but Andy realized soon enough that it was the window that caused this illusion and that the incredibly tight silk was actually virginal white. The strapless, extremely low-cut dress was so tight, Andy’s mouth went dry. She could see Miranda’s muscles move under her skin as she turned to face Andy. She could make out the shape of the editor’s thighs, of her belly button, of her breasts. All the air left her lungs when she saw that it was impossible for Miranda to wear any underwear at all without it showing.

 

‘They won’t talk, Andrea,’ Miranda said softly, a hint of devilish amusement in her voice. Andy whipped her head up, her eyes meeting Miranda’s, her cheeks flushed and she was grateful for the red light. It figured that Miranda wasn’t wearing a mask, though Andy spotted something white on a black table. Miranda’s silver hair was swept back, her make-up was heavier than normal. She had smoky eyes and plum lips. Apart from diamond studs and a diamond bracelet there was nothing that disrupted the flawless, ivory skin.

 

‘Well, you never know,’ Andy replied bravely, wondering if it was the alcohol talking. What had been in that drink? Miranda raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and sipped her drink. Andy raised her hands in order to take off her mask, because she didn’t feel she needed it anymore, when Miranda shook her head.

 

‘Rules, Andrea, I would have thought you could remember them.’ She slowly sauntered towards the sofa, the fabric of the dress dragging behind her, her five and a half inch heels clicking on the wood. She sat down on the black sofa, crossed her legs, the supple fabric falling away exposing Miranda’s thigh through the split, she leaned back and placed her left arm on the back of the couch. Andy had never seen her so relaxed.

 

‘You’re not wearing one,’ Andy shot back and tried to stand in a way that would ease the throb between her thighs. The small flicker in Miranda’s eyes told Andy that she had noticed it. But instead of a glare or a lethal remark Miranda’s lips curled up in a not so nice smile.

 

‘My little gathering, I fail to see why I should obey my own rules.’ The softly spoken words stopped Andy’s heart. Of all the things she had thought Miranda to be capable of, hosting a drunken and stoned night of sex for celebrities of every kind had not been on the list. It was more likely that Miranda threw someone out her window or killed them with her Prada heel over a minor detail in a shoot than that she did this.

 

‘You’re responsible for this, for that Caligula-like scenario out there?’ She realized she had broken the you-never-ask-Miranda-anything rule and had actually raised her voice, but to her surprise Miranda chuckled.

 

‘Caligula, that’s original. Perhaps I ought to get a horse next year, make it the guest of honour and have sex with my brother. I am the hostess, but I am not responsible. That would be my great-great-grandmother. She had this grand notion that the English aristocracy needed to have such occasions as these to blow off steam otherwise something might go horribly wrong. She was right, of course, and within twenty-five years the world’s greatest personalities came to these extravagant soirees. The task of the hostess was passed on from mother to daughter, but my family never revealed to our guests we were responsible, as you put it.’ Miranda took another sip from her drink and put the glass down on the low table in front of her. ‘The house had been in my family ever since they migrated to America,’ Miranda added.

 

Andy’s head was spinning and she knew it wasn’t just because of the strange cocktail that seemed to have more effect than she imagined it could have. Alcohol, drugs, and sex, all Miranda’s, well Miranda’s family’s doing? Miracles never ceased. Next thing Paris Hilton and George Bush would actually develop a brain. She sank down in a large fauteuil across from Miranda, but the feeling of the cushions was strange, in a scary way, so she got up again.

 

‘I’m surprised you dared to enter this room. You’re the only one. One of my ancestors died in this room of the Red Death when she turned up at one of his parties. He had grown jealous of his wife’s exclusive gatherings which caused him to arrange his own, but contrary to his wife, he slept around. She poisoned him with the virus. All of his guests saw him die a gruesome death here and since that day no one outside the family has entered this room, except for you, but then you are not afraid to go where others don’t dare, are you?’

 

Andy bit her lip. Had she been invited just so Miranda could verbally cut her down, get her revenge for what happened three years ago? At least it made more sense than her being invited to a party for influential people while she was a mere journalist. But it still hurt.

 

‘That was low,’ she whispered. Miranda frowned and leaned forward. Andy swallowed as she tried not to look at her ex-employer’s beautifully displayed cleavage. It was truly unfair that Miranda was so beautiful and so sensual. Against her will she felt her anger slip and the want grow.

 

‘Low, Andrea? How low exactly? As low as talking behind my back about how frigid I am? Or as low as selling me out to the gossip rags? Or as low as leaving me behind in Paris without a word like some petulant child, just because the real world was harder than you thought it was?’

 

Andy held her breath. As usual, Miranda was right. It had been a childish action and quite low too. Miranda had every right to make fun of her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said and meant it.

 

‘Everybody is. The only difference between them is the reason why. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to return to.’ Miranda picked up her white mask and started walking towards the door, her hips swaying in a fuck-me-way. As Miranda brushed by her their shoulders touched. During Andy’s employment they had never really touched, not really anyway, but this, the soft feel of Miranda’s skin against her own made her shiver and even more aroused. She reached out and grabbed Miranda’s wrist before she could disappear. Miranda spun on her heel and faced Andy, her eyes flashing dangerously.

 

‘I really am sorry,’ Andy said. She really regretted leaving her in Paris, never thanking her for what she meant to her, never telling Miranda how beautiful she was and that all her ex-husbands were fools to leave her.

 

‘Let me go, Andrea,’ Miranda demanded, but made no move to get away from Andy. Her wrist lay relaxed between Andy’s fingers. Her lips however were pursed, showing her obvious discontent.

 

‘No, not until you tell me if you will or will not accept my apology,’ she snapped. If Miranda surprised by her reaction, she didn’t show it. Her face had the same bored expression as if she watching a failed James Holt collection.

 

‘That depends on what you are apologizing for,’ Miranda replied in a low voice. Andy didn’t know if it was the alcohol or if she was just suicidal, but she reached out and placed her hand on Miranda’s hip, feeling the warmth of the woman’s skin through the silk, and pulled her closer until their bodies touched.

 

‘I regret not doing this,’ she said, her lips close to Miranda’s. Before Miranda had a chance to react, Andy crushed her lips against the editor’s parted ones. The instant she felt Miranda’s tongue against her lips, their tongues touched, Andy knew she had wanted to do this ever since she had first seen Miranda. Their tongues battled for dominance, neither winning. Miranda’s surprisingly cool hands were in her hair and on her jaw, the white mask had fallen on the floor.

 

‘In that case, I’m not sure if I’ll forgive you,’ Miranda breathed when she pulled. ‘She gave you that cocktail. I could taste it. You aren’t thinking straight. That mixture is a lot stronger than it tastes.’ Andy pressed a soft kiss on Miranda’s lips. Perhaps she was right. Andy could feel the effect of the drink becoming stronger every minute. But what she was feeling and what she wanted to do this moment had nothing to do with the alcohol. Perhaps the confidence to do it did.

 

‘That might be so, but I’m thinking straight enough to do this.’ Gently she touched the smooth skin of Miranda’s thigh through the split of the silk gown. Miranda inhaled sharply. Slowly Andy trailed her fingers up, caressing every inch she could touch. She fastened her lips to the pale throat, marking Miranda as her own. Much to her surprise the older woman moaned and rolled her head back, giving Andy even more access.

 

‘Have you ever actually participated in one of these things?’ She moved her fingers further up the inside of Miranda’s thigh, until they met, as Andy had predicted, soft flesh coated with arousal. She groaned. Andy thought that she herself was wet, but Miranda was so slick she was beyond aroused.

 

‘Once or twice, oh god,’ Miranda whimpered when Andy’s fingers brushed over the overly sensitive flesh. ‘But I’ve never - - never like this.’ Andy liked this rather submissive side of Miranda. Just a few simple touches and the woman nearly melted in her arms. For a second she wondered how many people had ever seen her so needy, but she quickly banned that thought. She did not want to think about Miranda’s lovers right now.

 

A bit rougher than she intended she pushed two fingers in Miranda’s hot centre. Miranda cried out in pleasure and clung to Andy’s shoulders for support when her knees buckled. Andy pushed the heel of her palm against Miranda’s clit and felt the grip on her shoulders tighten while Miranda spread her legs to give her more access. Miranda kissed her again, causing Andy to feel the moan the older woman’s moan in her own mouth. She never could have imagined Miranda to be this sensual, this sexual, this hot.

 

‘More, I need - -,’ Miranda seemed unable to say what she needed, but Andy knew what she herself wanted to do. She pulled her fingers out and brought them to her lips, licking them clean, tasting Miranda for the first time. It was deliciously delirious. She pulled Miranda towards the couch and pushed her onto it. The woman was breathing heavily and her cheeks looked flushed. Her pupils had almost completely swallowed her irises. Andy sank down on her knees and pushed the white fabric out of her way, revealing Miranda’s sex.

 

‘You don’t have to do - - oh,’ Miranda cried out at the first touch of Andy’s tongue against her slit. The sweet taste of Miranda had more effect on Andy than any hallucinogenic drug could ever have. Those people could keep their opium and absinthe, she had this. Suddenly she felt how her mask was lifted and thrown away. Andy grinned. So much for the rules.

 

‘Alea iacta est,’ she said and pushed three fingers in Miranda and fastened her lips to Miranda’s clit. Somewhere she doubted that Caesar had not meant those words in that way, but the thought left her mind when she heard Miranda’s small scream. Perfectly manicured fingers dug in the cushions of the sofa and her head was thrown back. Andy felt so powerful in this situation. The great Miranda Priestly was completely at her mercy and she loved it. With newly found energy she began to move her fingers in and out of Miranda in a quick steady rhythm. She alternated the actions of her mouth between sucking and licking. Within minutes Miranda was on the brink of a powerful orgasm.

 

Behind them the grandfather clock chimed again, the horrible sound filling the house once again, silencing all the guests. Sharp nails dug in Andy’s skull, but Andy did not stop. With one final thrust and sweep of her tongue, Miranda came. She clenched around Andy fingers, arched of the couch and screamed, the sound running through the entire house along with the last chime of the clock. Slowly Miranda’s muscles relaxed and she slumped back on the couch. Andy took the sight in of a thoroughly exhausted Miranda, but yet she had never looked so gorgeous, so - -

 

‘Exquisite,’ Miranda murmured. Andy smiled and wiped her chin. It was then that everything became vague. In the distance she could hear Miranda say that it was the cocktail. It had this effect on people. That did however not stop her from taking Andy to the large four poster bed that stood in the corner concealed in the shadows. There Miranda had taken her in every way possible until she was sore between her legs. And Andy had returned the favour.

 

She could still feel Miranda’s fingers between her thighs, her lips sucking on her hip. The way their sweat covered bodies felt against each other. How finally they had fallen asleep, completely exhausted but fully sated. She even remembered waking up at night and seeing Miranda sleeping on her stomach, her upper body uncovered, how Miranda’s white skin had contrasted with the black velvet covers, how peaceful she had looked.

 

When she woke the next morning the place beside her was empty, though it was still warm, and the silk gown was gone. Andy’s head felt like it had been put in a cement mixer. It took some time for to realize where she was, why she was here and what had happened. She couldn’t help but be disappointed to see that Miranda had gone. There was however a black envelope on her pillow. Quickly she ripped it to shreds. And again a red invitation appeared telling her the time and date of the next year’s party. Sighing Andy fell back in the pillows and threw the invitation away when she noticed writing on the back.

 

She held her breath as she picked it up and started to read. It said nothing more than ‘In case you had forgotten’ and then Miranda’s address and phone numbers. At the bottom was another Latin creed.

 

‘Dum spiro, spero.’

 

As long as I live, I hope.

 


End file.
